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8/14/2019 Coffee Crumb 1

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Hello and welcome to the first issue of CoffeeCrumbs. If you are reading this you probably likecoffee. We do too. A lot. In fact this whole zine wasstapled together during a caffeinated frenzy of chaotic

output. That said there may be some typos and straylines. I apologize for this behavior. Our editor, in afit of anti-capitalist mania, moved to Alaska. Inspired

by Grizzly Man shes taken a liking towards seal meatin hopes of being accepted by their local polar bearpopulation. Shes dead now, so we print this zine inher unspecified honor.

I feel obligated to warn you that some drawingsor stories will not be suitable for children. We are nottelling you how to raise your kids. Im just sayingthere could be some naughty words. Other stories willnot be suitable for adults. But I guarantee that everypage is 100% suitable for monkeys. I fucking love

monkeys. (See, I warned you, bad words.)

Please tell us what think of this so called CoffeeCrumbs zine. If you wanna complain, submit, sendus a dollar, criticize, offer grammatical advise, give usdrink recipes or just sort of rant write us an email atdimmedia@gmail. Why? Because google owns our souland yours too.

Thats it for intros please enjoy Coffee CrumbsIssue one: The Flies. Thank you and have a wonderfulday.

Your friends,

Dim Media


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Convention

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Thoug

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hought

ThinkingAbout

Thought


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An ADD Rant by Jon HesterWhen you were a child every minute meant moreto you, took longer, and had an almost constantsignificance. It is important to remember that

perspective as an adult interacting with children. Ilook around and see that many grown ups oftenforget how it really felt to be a child (and some mayeven feel uncomfortable around kids as a result) becausethey have stifled some of their behaviors with age, let somedreams die, and moved on into a comfortable routine. Incollege one almost never interacts with may people outsidetheir age bracket on a daily basis, and beyond certain family

affairs that pattern can continue until one has kids oftheir own or spend time with peers who do. I feel blessedto have worked with kids as much as I have- it has taughtme a great deal about how to enjoy life. I beseech you toreach into your most personal memories of how it felt topick up the most colorful rock in the riverbed, the ache ofwhen your third grade crush went to the drinking fountain

with somebody else, the exuberance of the night you hadice cream outside before running to catch fireflies with theneighborhood kids, and the seriousness with which youupheld the rules of kickball. That was alive and well in you,unbridled. Dont forget it. After working with children as ateacher and goofing off with my friends kids at backyardbarbeques Ive solidified my beliefs of treating kids withall the utmost sincerity as if they were adults. Everything

in their world means more (relatively) to them thaneverything in ours because they are constantly absorbingfresh experiences on the journey of life, and YOU are a partof it. They need you to not just tell them to be careful ina patronizing singsong voice, but to freak out about howawesome it feels to run through the sprinkler and screamreally loud, understand how sad it can seem when nobody

can come over to play, and push super hard on the tireswing. Let them know the rules and have consequencesready for behavior that would ultimately hurt them, but alsoconfide in them that you are sympathetic to their causes-give them room to walk the path and make a few rules oftheir own.


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9/23

Light reflects off a bullet. It enters her chamber.

Most bullets weigh about 14 grams. Thats equivalent to half an

ounce or 9 American pennies. It enters her chamber with a clinklike a mother embracing her infant, Evil Jane, 2.5 pounds, and 5

1/2 inches of polished metallic steel.

I press her lips to my skull. Janes muzzle kisses my temple. I tilt

my head affectionately towards her. The fat man with tattooed

sleeves likes what he sees.

He leans over the table smiling in anticipation. His biceps bulge

like ripe grapefruits. Animated demon-whores tango on his skin.

Grease stains saturate across his plump belly. A mad grin stretches

across his unshaven face. These moments are his to live for. But

so do Jane and I.

He cannot have her. I smile while biting off the tip of my tongue

and letting warm blood seeps through my teeth. It coats the back

of my throat and runs down my chin. It s his turn next and Jane

wont be as forgiving. She whispers in my ear, I love only you.

He cannot have her. I smile while biting off the tip of my tongue

and letting warm blood seeps through my teeth. It coats the back

of my throat and runs down my chin. It s his turn next and Jane

wont be as forgiving. She whispers in my ear, I love only you.

A little Chinese man bounces in the room happy to see my brains

painted across the wall of his all you can eat restaurant. His face

squeezes into a constipated knot wrinkling up his nose. You do

it, American Man. He shouts snapping an arm towards me with

an erect index finger. You do now! He spits at me. Two of his

fingers are missing and there are no customers in his establishment

tonight. This allows plenty of time to clean before tomorrow s

buffet.


10/23

Urine moistens my jeans in a dark growing circle. A fly buzzes

and lands on my forehead, causing me to refocus my attention. It

licks the moisture off my flesh and flaps transparent wings. My

teeth grind in agony. The buzzing pierces my spine like a bad trip,

unhinged grit flowing through gnashing bone marrow. I dont wantmy last thoughts to be about this disgusting fly. After I die this pest

will lay eggs in my flesh. Parasitic fecal feaster, you need to die.

Perched on the sink, I notice another. They are everywhere.

Tapping at the window desperately trying to escape. I can sense

their fear. Afraid like the fly on my forehead should be.

They swarm around a dangling light bulb high above. They pick at

day old food on unwashed dishes. I cant escape the buzzing. The

flies wait for my rotting corpse. They corner me here so I can be a

feast for their maggots. The flies listen to my thoughts. They think

they have won, but they dont know Jane.

A fist slams on the table. Tattoo flames flutter in stop motion and

simmer back on his forearm in rearranged patterns. The demons

still dance. He sits opposite me at the chipped up dinning room

table and keeps smiling. Bastard doesnt know hes next. Jane

doesnt love him or his sweaty baldhead.


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He tries to grunt something, but his words gurgle out in long

mumbling bubble captions. He points his thick arm towards a

clock on the wall. Rotting stink seeps out the open cavities of his

leathery flesh. It is two thirty in the morning and smells of dead

fish.

Unsheathing a four-inch chopping knife the pungent Chinese man

eyeballs me in desperate greed. His front tooth is cracked. If Jane

wishes, I will be a glorious entree on tomorrows menu, between

the Shanghai Noodles and the Chicken Curry.

Apathy flows in euphoric waves. Especially when youre aboutto blow your brains out, wearing soiled pants, and surrounded by

flies. A light overhead sways bathing me in florescent golden dust.

Tranquility dilutes the filth. I could achieve complete un-Zen if it

werent for these damn flies. I want to squeeze their puke green

guts between my fingers.


12/23

Evil Jane is the solution to this drastic hallucination. Ill get them

and there wont be a funeral song. Jane doesnt like to be rushed

and neither do I. It s a slow and easy dance of passion. You have

to love her just right. If this greasy fat bastard can hold his nerves

a little longer and the China man doesnt pop his whistle, Ill getat least one of them. This one, crawling across on forehead, right

now, it will send a message to the rest.

I share an understanding with the other men. It is in our eye

contact, a sterile indifference, a nod without nodding. My time

is approaching. I feel it tingling in the air, lifting the hairs on my

neck. Jane sings to me in a quiet pitched whisper. I wrap myfingers around her thin waist. My life is worth this kiss.

Breaking our glance I check the clock. Three-o-six and I tip the

revolver forty-five degrees to my head. Tiny salt beads collect on

my face. A sweat tear dangles at my nose and falls to the table

shattering into crystal pools. Im the one who knows Jane s secret

love. Her bullet will graze me with a scratch and the China man

wont have a clue. His tooth cracks in half. His patience wavers

and I wait for it. Were all waiting for this one true moment.

Laugher stirs in my belly. I wait for the fly. This is too easy. Then

it happens, and the poor bastard doesnt know it. It lands on Jane s

chrome lips. Seductively I squeeze her trigger listening to the

gentle click of the reclining hammer.

I smile in complete satisfaction. A peace Ive never tasted before.

The wonderful second before her kiss is a perfect moment. My

love, you are beautiful and the fly will never know. It will never

understand your pleasure.

Then, there is the numbing. Anyone who has had an explosion

close to their head can explain this. Absolute silence. Everything

deafening.


13/23

The first few moments are serene filled with soundless motion.

The street outside no longer exists. The second hand on the clock

circles without its tick-tock. The music in the background is

absent. The voice inside my head no longer speaks.

Blood on the floor and on the walls, welcome to reality: a

broken bamboo chair, body limp lying on kitchen tile, warm liquid

streaming down my face, the smell of burnt hair and gunpowder, a

small cloud of blue smoke and a faucet dripping in silence.

I am in my top floor apartment overflowing in garbage. Trash day

is tomorrow. I need to take it out. The China man walks away.The fat man disappears with his tattoos. I knew he didnt have the

guts. It s his turn, the coward. I got the fly, not him. I killed the

fly.

Touching the gushing hairless wound on side of my skull the

blood is like thick red oil between my thumb and fingers. I got the

bastard! I shot the fly. I know it! I put a bullet through its putrid

body. I shot him good. Im the smart one! I had the plan. Me and

Jane, there isnt anything we cant do. I knew she loved me.

Now about the rest of these flieswhat shall we do Jane?

Whats that?

What did you say Jane? You think the neighbors might hear us. I

know. Some people don t understand how these things happen.

I love you too.


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SPAM POETRY

Swashbuckle Civilizingby Casares Munyer

Your part. You dont seem to takeyour responsibilities gone out and posted

it last night, just before page with unction yes,miss but Ive got the to youth. All youth has alwaysrebelled. You rebel, the window, where the hand wasalleged to have there once. She had only to keep still

and wait. Nobody could get out from theredont you believe is, however,

very possible that wace may have.

Debt Collectorby Beccaria Latz

As he left the house,

mother carey gave a summoninghis jealousy was well founded.

Anyhow, it is certain have been a journalist.you have the remnants lincoln employed

his hereditary talent for carpentryon a single theme. Leo thinks gwenda did it,

gwenda talk her round,besides, she irritated him. He move

a chair back against the wallwhen you went article of war

which forbadea purpose otherwise.


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Imitation Spam

By Lucas Koester and Joe Lipscomb

And then unto the bridle lust of main land andriver these things I too have known since time beganunto a great cataclysm of fire and ice. Why do they tellme I am sorrow? So then I kissed the fate of doom andkilled the race of face and killed the worm of deaththen the singing began.

Aint no tigers here. No airbrush to spin. The

inks wet like a yeti spending the profits on prophets.If the spell check evolves to slander grammar, will thedisgust and impure language be the poetry of deadtribes? I thought so. Then I remembered who broughtus this far.

And then upon the red tide of Mars I saw the fulltorment of your revenge swelling like a bloated whalecarcass I wept and then when I entered the forest thosesalty dogs attacked me, I fought with stick and toothand finished them in bloody daze and agony...

One shot of Bacardi two shots Morgan, one shotKahlua and some fresh monkey sweat. Thats how Ilike my revenge, strong, milky and a little salty. Theysay staring at florescent lights hurts your vision. Isay it makes you more aware. Two cigarettes andthree shots of espresso later I left my car in park andentered the basement.

I rendered the beams of fury into the crescentof a new moon but the lies of terror were already atmy feet, a man with glasses shot my wife and the cliff

called to her like a street mime that has been shot...Gremlins may fury when curry is stirring. Gollyyou shouldnt have taken an inexperienced girl to sucha high difficult cliff. The echoes are sizzling. Wouldyou shoot a man with glasses?


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Creditos

Cover Art by Charles Denton

The 9th Hero by Charles Denton

The Flies by Charles Denton

Conventions of Thought by Joe Lipscomb

Booze Monkey illustration by Joe Lipscomb

Surplus Bio Freaks by Blaine Garrett

The Adventures of Alfred the Panda by Mathew Eng

An ADD Rant by Jon Hester

Imitation Spam by Lucas Koester and Joe Lipscomb

Swashbuckle Civilizing by Casares Munyer

Debt Collector by Beccaria Latz

Booze Monkey recipe by Shannon Buchite

Dim Media is:Charles Denton- Dream Analyst and ChiefJoe Lipscomb- Belligerent Layout Defense SecretaryBlaine Garrett- Rodeo Technical Support Treasurer


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Summer love

2 shots vodka1 glug pomegranate juice1 splash Sprite1 splash mixed berryplus a scoopof sherbet on top


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Visit Dim Media on the Web

www.storyofdim.comor

Listen to Dim Media on the Web athttp://krappslastcast.com/

Warning: Krapps Last Cast may not be suitablefor kittens, children, or what the authorities callserious people. Dim Media may contain lethal dosesof caffeine and nicotine, which could lead to ranting,rapid perspiration and moon howling.

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